May 31, 2009

May 31st should be a happy day in my family. It is my brother's birthday, and Eric's dad's birthday. For everyone in my family, it is a happy day. But not for me. It's more of a bittersweet day for me. And the sad thing is, no one probably even remembers why. I do, and Eric does. But I'm not sure about anyone else. This year, 2009, my child would be 3.

In September of 2005, Eric and I found ourselves (well, myself actually) pregnant. It was unplanned and unexpected, yet not unwelcome. Once we got over the shock, we were happy. We were excited and already falling in love with our little "peanut". Somehow we came upon that nickname, because that was exactly what the ultrasound photo looked like. I was surprised how quickly Eric turned into "daddy to be" mode. I was impressed. There were still 3 months before I was due to finish grad school. It wasn't too big of a deal in that regard; manageable. The pregnancy was pretty normal. I got to see the heartbeat about 6-7 weeks. That was an amazing moment. I didn't feel or look pregnant, yet there was my child on that screen. A heartbeat. A life. My child. That moment changed everything. I went to the waiting room, and just hugged Eric and cried. I was so happy everything was okay. I was so happy to see my sweet baby's heart beating. We were due May 31st.

Everything changed on November 15th, 2005. I had an appointment for a triplescreen, which included some bloodwork and an ultrasound. We had not realized at our first appointment that it was normal for the dad to come back with the mom. But at this second appointment Eric was with me and went back for all the U/S, etc. We were so super pumped. Eric even brought his dictaphone (voice/sound recorder) to record the heartbeat. The technician started scanning and we were both just mesmerized by the screen. I remember that there were little teeny arms. Then she asked, "Have you been having any complications like bleeding or cramping?". That question changed everything. I told her that I did early on, but it had been 6 weeks since that. She continued to scan, with a concerned look on her face. She then spoke the words that changed my life. "I'm sorry to tell you, but there is no longer a heartbeat. Your child has died". All I remember is reaching for Eric's hand, and my eyes filling with tears. I remember that she told me it was not my fault, that I couldn't have done anything to prevent it. I don't really remember much else from that room, except climbing off that table and into Eric's arms. And sobbing, and sobbing.

They moved us to another room to talk with the doctor, and I continued to just bawl my eyes out. I finally pulled it together, only to lose it again when the OB came in. She presented us with two options: wait, and let nature take its course; or have a D&E. That stands for dilation and evacuation. In short, it is a quick outpatient surgery which essentially cleans out your uterus. According to the ultrasound measurements, they thought our baby had died about two weeks earlier. We figured that since nature hadn't done it's job yet, we weren't going to continue waiting. We scheduled surgery for the 18th.

I will say that there are some perks to being in the anesthesia field. Mainly, I got to choose people I really trusted and respected to take care of me. I was really worried I'd say some inappropriate things after they drugged me up, that could get me in trouble as a student. Thank you again to Mary, and Jamie and Gene for taking such good care of me.

November is no longer quite as hard for me. But May is. Especially the 31st. I still call my brother and FIL to wish them Happy Birthday, and I mean it. But what I really want is to be singing Happy Birthday to my child. That's what would truly make me happy. The hardest day was 5-31-06, the day he was due. ( I say he because I always felt in my heart it was a boy. We never knew.) 2007 and 2008 weren't as bad. But 2009 is turning out to be really hard for me. I think it's because now I really know and understand the love a parent has for a child after holding them in their arms. Loving Drake reminds me of my first child that I don't get to hold in my arms. It is sometimes beyond comprehension how much I love Drake. But, I'm sure you other parents out there understand. Missing my peanut doesn't take away from my love for Drake. If anything, it makes me love and appreciate him even more.

I was the first out of my friends to have a miscarriage. It is a heartbreak that no one can explain. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. There are appropriate and inappropriate things to say. I suggest that if you ever find yourself in a position to give kind words or advice to a miscarriage survivor, choose them wisely. They will leave a lasting imprint.

The way people treated Eric and myself during our pregnancy and loss varied greatly. I won't get into that here. But there are some people I want to specifically name and thank. Even if they never read this, I want to thank them. This post is for me and my healing, not really for anyone else's entertainment. My friends Paula and Katie were great. They held me, cried with me, and took me shopping at Target to distract me. There were two long and miserable days in between that god awful ultrasound, and my D&E. There were two CRNA's that were particularly kind. Dana cried with me when I told her I'd miscarried. Debbie let me go home early when I never really managed to quit crying during clinical. My friends Adriann and Chasity sent me flowers. Eric's parents sent us flowers as well. Eric's mom was wonderfully supportive with kind words. We went to NY for Thanksgiving a week after my surgery, and his Aunt Leslie said the kindest words to me. I still remember vividly how sweet she was. It was so nice for her to acknowledge what I was going through.

I still can't talk about my loss without crying. Heck, I can't really talk about miscarriage in general without crying. It is a true loss. I saw my child on that screen, with his heart beating. He was alive. He was mine. And he died. He would be three next weekend. I miss him.